


To Build A Home

by Cris



Series: In The Realm Of The Basses [6]
Category: Gossip Girl
Genre: F/M, Male Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:19:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7222069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cris/pseuds/Cris
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He had planned to tell Nate about the new house in a way that would have made him understand that it didn't mean he had become any less family to him; he wanted to give him a copy of the keys and explain him that he wasn't just welcome in his house, but that he actually wanted him to be a part of it, part of the life he and Blair were building together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Build A Home

_This is the place where I don't feel alone,_

_this is the place where I feel home._

* * *

When Blair Waldorf Bass made her entrance into the _Empire Hotel_ , several heads turned to watch her cross the luxurious lobby. Curious, envious stares followed her graceful steps. Her stride and her poise made an unequivocal statement about who she was: not just a wealthy woman of exceptional elegance, but also the closest thing the city had to royalty. Well aware of her allure, she walked with subtle yet prideful arrogance; unapproachable and regal, she didn't deem anyone of a glance, her ruby red lips slightly pursed in a perfect, snobbish pout.

Fearful and tense, the concierge observed her coming towards him. Ever since she had moved there, all of the Empire's employees had started to think of every meeting with Mrs. Bass as a tricky test they had to pass if they wanted to keep their job. She was stunning, but she was as threatening as Mr. Bass, if not more. Her eyes might have been a warm shade of deep brown, but they were still glacial; they seemed to be always haunting for flaws and faults she would have reported to her husband – and probably with a sadist, satisfied smile.

Therefore, unwilling to make her wait, the concierge turned and hurried to get the penthouse suite keycard. When Blair reached the front desk, the key had been already set on the counter's tabletop. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Bass," the man greeted her with a discrete smile and a tone that sounded reverent and particularly courteous, but still professional enough not to be intrusive. "Your key is ready. A package arrived for you this morning and I took the liberty to have it brought to the suite."

Blair took off her sunglasses, revealing the cold, sharp gaze the vintage cat eye frame and the dark lens had hidden till that moment. "Good," she said with a dismissive nod.

The concierge thought he had seen the hint of a smile rise to her lips, but it didn't last. In a fleeting moment, Mrs. Bass was back staring at him with her usual imperturbable expression. He gulped nervously before asking her if she needed anything else.

"Yes, actually," she replied detached, grabbing the keycard. "My maid will soon stop by to deliver a dress. Send her up. I'd also like to be informed when my husband arrives."

With that last demand, she spun around on her stiletto heels, glossy, full curls bouncing on her shoulders as she walked past the front desk without adding another word or waiting for a reply. The concierge continued watching her until she disappeared inside the penthouse elevator, which a zealous doorman had already called for her. She was definitely the perfect match for his intimidating employer, he wondered, as he wrote down a memo to text Mr. Bass' driver to let him know when he was about to pull up to the building, so that he could satisfy Mrs. Bass' request.

Inside the privacy the elevator, away from prying eyes, Blair relaxed and sighed contentedly. She was thrilled. An afternoon meeting with the architect and the interior designer who were curating the renovation works on residence she and Chuck had bought four weeks ago had confirmed that the house was going to be ready within the next month. The news had left her overjoyed; she couldn't wait to move in with Chuck and start building their future there. Having their own place was the first milestone of their marriage and she was more than ready to reach it.

Blair had fallen in love with the propriety the first they had visited it. It was a five story neo-Italian Renaissance limestone building, situated in the Upper East Side of Manhattan, which had been converted to a single-family home by the previous owners. The townhouse was opulent, but it still preserved a certain warm atmosphere that had made her understand right away that it was perfect for them. Now that, thanks to her choices and dedication, it was progressively becoming a clear expression of their personalities and style, she couldn't help but envision their life there even more vividly. Growing as a couple, fulfilling their dreams, becoming parents one day in the near future and raising a child behind the walls of that gorgeous house; she could see it all and her imagination was so bright and told such a blissful story that she felt ecstatic.

A welcoming ding shook her from her daydreaming and told her that the private elevator had reached the top floor. After a second, the automatic doors slid open, letting Blair take in the modern furnished foyer. As she stepped inside the Empire's penthouse suite, where she had been living with Chuck for the past six months, her gaze was drawn, as it inevitably happened every time she walked in, by the flashy motorcycle towering in the center of the small entrance. She looked at the bright yellow license plate displaying her husband's surname with critical eye. She detested that piece; it was flamboyant and ostentatious.

And that was possibly the reason why Chuck loved it so much, Blair wondered, her expression softening as her lips instinctively curled in a tiny smile. Loving him unconditionally also meant accepting his sometimes excessively theatrical taste. She would have found a proper place for the garish bike in one of the many rooms of their new residence, she told herself as she shook her head resignedly – somewhere where it wouldn't have clashed too much with the sophisticated, French style furnishings and antique pieces she had decided to decorate the townhouse with.

The package the concierge had made sure to send to the suite was indeed an ensemble of furniture catalogues that her father, a romantic soul who still stubbornly preferred to avoid emails, had sent her from overseas, along with his notes and a beautifully handwritten letter that Blair couldn't wait to read. She was sure that it was a nostalgic, dreamy mix of thoughts about time passing (she was once his baby girl and now, so suddenly, she was a married woman ready to start her own family) and heartfelt reflections regarding the importance and the meaning of sharing a real house with her husband.

Lost in her thoughts, it took her some more seconds to realize the strange fact that Monkey hadn't come to welcome her as he always did whenever she stepped out of the elevator. It wasn't time for his walk; Chuck used to take him out in the morning before work and his valet did it in the early afternoon and in the evening. Frowning, she walked past the entrance and into the living room area, looking for the dog.

There, sitting awkwardly on the floor, was the reason behind the oddity. Blair stopped behind the long bright orange sofa and smiled at the sight of Nate playing with Monkey. The dark blue jacket of his suit had been abandoned on the couch's backrest and his tie fell loose over the shirt the dog had crumpled, moving frenetically on Nate's lap and pushing his pawns against his shoulders to shove him down. Under Blair's amused gaze, Monkey licked Nate's face with great enthusiasm, making him guffaw. The image was so hilarious – the blonde man looked like a kid with his cheeks flushed from all that laughing and with that gleeful expression on his always so innocent face – that Blair couldn't contain a soft giggle herself.

Monkey immediately raised his ears at the sound, turning his head towards her. Nate, who was now practically laying on the beige carpet covering the parquet floor and barely supporting himself on his elbows, hadn't heard her. He watched confused as the dog ran away wagging his tail and disappeared behind the couch. It was only when he couldn't see him anymore that he convinced himself to raise his eyes from the ground and finally saw Blair smiling down at him.

"Hello, Archibald," she greeted him, chuckling as she watched him flinch. His clear blue eyes opened wide and the blush of his cheeks became more evident as, embarrassed, he tried to sit up and gain back some composure. "You two are having fun, I see."

"Blair!" he exclaimed, running an hand through his messy blonde hair. "I'm sorry, I was, umh…I was just…" the stuttered words mingled in an indistinct mumbling, before he turned silent. His face assumed a disordered expression, as he clearly tried to find a credible reason for his presence.

Blair suspected he didn't have one, if not the genuine hope to find his best friend there – a naïve hope, she wondered, considering that Chuck rarely came back that early. She didn't know how he had ended up rolling on the floor with the dog, but it wasn't so hard to imagine Nate succumbing to Monkey's pleading eyes.

"Ivan let me in," Nate justified himself after a second, trying to avoid Blair's attentive stare. "I was just looking for Chuck. But he's not here and Monkey…" his voice trailed off with a sigh. He shook his head frantically. "Well, it doesn't matter. I'll go now, I don't wanna bug you."

"Bug me?" Blair raised her eyebrows laughing softly, as she sat down on the couch. "Nonsense," she smiled sweetly at Nate, following him with her eyes as he clumsily stood up. "You do not bug anyone, Nate; we've already told you plenty of times that you can come here whenever you want. You certainly don't need an invitation, much less Chuck's valet to ' _let you in_ '."

Nate shoot her a shy glance before looking down and jamming his hands into the pockets of his trousers. Blair sighed. She didn't know how to make him feel comfortable and at ease, as she knew Chuck wanted him to feel in spite of the new circumstances.

Their married life wasn't settling well with Nate at all. He wouldn't have dared to voice his feelings, but Blair knew him well enough to understand that he missed his best friend. Together, over the years, they had built numerous habits and routines that had inevitably shattered, even just for the simple fact that they didn't live together anymore.

Nate had decided to move to another suite when she and Chuck had gotten back from their honeymoon; no matter how much they had insisted that there was no need for him to do such a thing, he had still preferred to give them space. Back then Blair had been grateful for his unexpected perspicacity in that situation and for the way he had understood that newlyweds needed alone time more than anything, but now she felt a bit guilty. After months, Nate was still strangely nervous around her and reluctant to come to the penthouse when both she and Chuck were there, as if he was afraid to intrude. He preferred to try to catch his best friend alone, which usually turned out to be a terrible strategy to spend time with him. They definitely saw each other less than they were used to before.

"You can wait for Chuck here, he should be back in an hour or so. In the meantime you could pour yourself a drink and play pool, if you want," Blair kept on, trying to convince him not to leave with a wide, welcoming grin spreading on her face. "I really don't mind, Nate. I have these to look over anyways," she said, starting to extract the catalogues from the package the staff had settled on the coffee table in front of her.

Nate glanced up. For a moment his eyes focused on Monkey, who had curled up next to Blair and rested his head on her knee, letting her cuddle him, but then they shifted to the catalogues she was accurately piling up. Noticing that they were full of colorful post-its, the sadness that had crossed his face at the realization that he was now invisible to the dog faded. Curiosity suddenly made him frown. "What are those?" he asked intrigued, tilting his head slightly to get a better look of the pages.

"Oh, just some pieces of furniture I'm considering for the new house," she answered gaily, unable to hide her happiness. Her eyes were sparkling as she started to look at the pictures and, for a second, she almost forgot Nate was there. "They've just told me it'll be ready by next month," she said distractedly, as if she was talking to herself. "I can't wait to tell Chuck."

Still, as soon as the words escaped her lips, Blair realized her mistake. She raised her eyes and noticed that Nate was now staring at her with a deeply melancholic expression, his lips pursed in slight pout; her revelation, caused by an uncontrolled rush of enthusiasm, had definitely upset him. She immediately felt bad for Nate, understanding that her husband would have been far more tactful delivering what, to his best friend, was probably an unsettling news.

"Oh, that's…great," he commented, forcing a smile. His disappointed look, thought, betrayed the kind words. "I'm sure he'll be really happy. I'll go then," he rushed to add right after, his eyes back gazing at the floor. "I shouldn't be here when you'll tell him."

"Are you sure?" Blair asked. Truth to be told, she had planned to welcome Chuck with a drink and then soak into a bubble bath with him, but she was ready to give up on that tempting prospect if it meant reassuring Nate. She knew that her husband would have hated knowing that he was upset. Besides, they would have had plenty of time to be alone later. Chuck had had a bouquet of fresh pink peonies delivered at her office that morning, with a card and an invitation for a romantic dinner she was really looking forward to.

Nate nodded slowly. "Yeah," he shrugged. "I'll just text him to meet me in the lobby bar for a drink tonight."

Blair's heart sank at his words. They had a reservation for 9 PM and she was sure they wouldn't have gotten back to the Empire before midnight. "Actually, Nate...I don't think he'll make it," she uttered the words deliberately, trying to be delicate. "We have plans for tonight."

Nate's face had always been an open book about his emotions; it had always showed them crystal clear and Blair, who had been reading them correctly since she was four, wasn't surprised to see gloom immediately clouding his eyes. When he nodded again, he looked hurt and desolately resigned. "I see," he bowed his head and shrugged once more. "Could you just tell him to call me?" He heaved a long sigh, before adding: "If he has time, I mean…"

Full of guilt, Blair bit her bottom lip. "Look, why don't you come with us?" she proposed promptly, using her best persuading tone and brightest beam. She really didn't want him to feel so excluded. "I'm sure Chuck can change our dinner reservation for three."

The blonde man thought about it for a second before shaking his head no. "It's okay, Blair," a faint, polite smile curled his lips. "I'm sure you guys want to celebrate the good news. I don't wanna be the third wheel."

Defeated, Blair nodded. That attitude was so typical of Nate, she wondered as she watched him grab his jacket from the couch and give Monkey a gentle goodbye caress before leaving; there was no way to fight it, neglecting his needs in order to keep everyone happy had always been his greatest weakness.

* * *

"I can't believe we had dinner _in bed_ ," Blair grumbled hours later, as she dug a teaspoon into a cup of dark chocolate mousse. "We had a reservation at _Jean Georges_ , Chuck."

In spite of the annoyed words, her tone was more amused than truly bothered and, when she took a taste of dessert, the corners of her lips tilted up in a discretely satisfied little smirk, as she shot him a playful glance from over the small crystal bowl. Her eyes were beaming too, Chuck realized once again, bright and full of vivid enthusiasm as they had been all night.

_That gaze, so intense and passionate, had been the first thing he had noticed, when, coming out of the elevator, he had found her standing in the foyer, the tip of her finger dancing slowly around the edge of the glass she was holding – a scotch, her favorite way to welcome him._

She had smiled at him as he paced towards her, a secretive smile that gave a meaning to her mysterious silence and blissful glow; that expression, he had learnt over the years, was the portrayal of a victory, of something that made her proud and that she couldn't wait to share with him.

Chuck worshiped that pose, the way her cheeks would turn blush and her irises sharper, deeper, as if the pleasure of a small or a big conquer had given her a darker, more shadowy charm. He admired that obscure beauty made of devilish glances and cryptically pleased smirks that were an insoluble enigma for everyone except for him. He took immense delight in her maliciousness and pride in the way she didn't feel the need to hide it in from him. There was no shame between them; his wife knew he would have rejoiced with her of all the successes the rest of the world would have considered outrageous.

_"_ _What have you done, Blair?" he had asked as he took the drink she had handed him and laced his free arm around her waist. Her hand had trailed over his chest up to his tie, which she had loosened slowly and accurately. "I know that wicked look of yours," he had added when her eyebrows had raised at his knowing question. He had found himself smirking down at her. "It means trouble."_

_Blair had pulled away from him and started making her way towards the living room area, leaving him to stare at her back. "Trouble?" she had turned as she walked, glancing over her shoulder in a silent invite to follow her. "What gives you the impression that I misbehaved?" she had wondered in a soft, guiltless voice, and her doe eyes had widened, made sweeter by false innocence._

Yet, Chuck had noticed with delight, all of her unconcealed contentment had showed in the way she had bitten her lower lip, impatient to share all the details of her triumph, as she leaned against the pool table's edge. He had taken a quick sip of his drink and reached her, resting the glass on the blue fabric upholstered tabletop. Soon his arms had trapped her in a firm hold again.

_"_ _Misbehave?" he had echoed her after, pulling her closer so that her body would stick perfectly to his. "You should know that misbehaving is a relative concept, Mrs. Bass," he had said, his hand clutching her hip as she wrapped her arms around his neck. "And the line between good and evil is blurred at best."_

_Blair had giggled. "I might have threaten our architect," she had confessed, tilting her head on side to brush her lips against his neck. They had reached his ear in a sequence of furtive, light kisses. "No one can keep the Basses waiting this long," she had whispered, "I made sure he'd understand it."_

_The Basses. She was a Bass now and she thought and acted like one. A vague image of Blair calling herself Blair Bass, her dark eyes shining fiercely as she used the name they now shared to command respect and fear, had crossed Chuck's mind and he had felt like he owned the world, strengthened by a power that didn't have anything to do with money. He had squeezed her waist once more, possessively, as he made his hand inch up her side, tracing the sinuous shape of her body in a long, careful and devoted touch. His fingers had lingered on her shoulder, taking their time to make the strap of her dress slightly slide down on her forearm. The full view of the crook of her neck had made him purse his lips in the effort of keeping himself from sinking his face into it and, kissing her avidly, tear off her clothes._

Blair had looked up at him and he had taken her chin between his fingers, lifting it up gently. His eyes had locked with hers, catching every shade of lust and pleasure in her dark stare. "And did you succeed?" The question, pronounced just to give her the satisfaction of answering with a proud yes, had escaped his mouth firm but tense from the way their bodies were longing for each other.

_Blair had shot him a victorious glance, as her lips stretched in a satisfied but sweeter smile. "The house will be ready within the next month," she had announced. Deeper than desire and passion, a look of pure, simple happiness had showed on her face._

_Chuck had stared at her in silence for a second; her joy was reassuring and warm, and the certainty that she was his home, that he was building a future with her – a future where he had a real house, a real family and true, unconditional love -, was more electrifying and sexier than any mischievous look she had ever given him. So he had answered with a passionate kiss and swiftly laid her down on the pool table; he had made love to her there, incapable of waiting a second more. Dinner plans had been completely forgotten, as he showed her gratitude in the way he liked the most._

"The _Empire_ kitchen is excellent," Chuck stated smugly. He smirked pleased as he leaned towards Blair, who was sitting in front of him with her feet tucked under herself. "You can't possibly complain about dinner," his lips haunted for hers again and, kissing her, he felt the taste of chocolate on his tongue. "Or about what we did before," he added when they parted, his still greedy eyes slowly going back up her figure and memorizing the details of her body.

He could have spent hours staring at her, his gaze following every single move she made, and delighting in the simplest facets of her demeanor; the way she'd push a curl behind her ear and look down when she felt exposed, the way she'd frown at his dirty comments but, at the same time, repress a flattered smile – all the small things about her that he adored. In that moment he was bewitched by how graceful and yet majestic she looked, her naked body dressed only by the light sheet she had draped around herself, and the locks he had eagerly tousled in their moment – hours, actually – of passion falling messy on the ethereal, porcelain skin of her thin shoulders.

He smiled, watching as Blair turned slightly and set aside the small dessert bowl on the tray that rested beside them on the mattress. She turned her attention back to him and cupped his cheek with her hand, smiling as well. "I'm not complaining," she clarified. She leaned in and placed another brief, light kiss on his lips, a simple, tactful gesture to make sure her comment hadn't hurt his pride. "I just love _Jean Georges_ ' beef tenderloin," she sighed. "And a night out wouldn't have been so bad."

Chuck chortled. He knew how much she liked showing off their happiness and their power and how pleased she was by the way people looked at them, with that unmistakable combination of envy and uneasiness. She didn't want to waste any occasion to tell the world that she was his wife and her satisfaction, that look of pride and fulfillment on her face, was absolutely thrilling to him. "Well," his arms captured her waist and he pulled her onto his lap. She didn't resist his hold, but relaxed in the tight embrace, resting her back against chest. His lips skimmed over her neck following its curve, till he reached her bare shoulder and kissed it. "If you're still in the mood for going out we could still go take a look at _our_ house."

The offer, murmured against her skin, was meant to provoke her. Blair was being extremely secretive about the house; she wouldn't allow him to go check on the refurbishing works or give him even the vaguest idea about how she had chosen to decorate the residence. She wanted it to be a surprise, she had explained him excitedly. Although he despised being kept in the dark, her beaming lips and enthusiastic, glowing eyes had been a reason enough for Chuck to give in and promise her that he would have satisfied her wish. He had always been powerless in front of that tender, somewhat innocent expression; it was the reflection of her most romantic and dreamy side and, most of all, of the deep love and immense devotion she had for him. He trusted her unconditionally; he had no doubts she would have done a pristine job. Still, this little mystery between them was intriguing and, knowing how controlling his wife was, he couldn't help but teasing her about it.

Blair turned her head and eyed him over her shoulder. He smirked at her, his eyebrows raised to show amusement, and she smiled, always content to be leading the game. "Nice try, Bass," she brought her hand to his cheek and gave him a gentle, playful pinch. "But I forbade you to see it before it's ready. And it doesn't matter how much you try to persuade me with sex, the rule will not change."

She had spoken in that authoritarian, despotic tone that Chuck adored. A little, oblique smile curved his lips. "I don't follow the rules, Blair," he said huskily, slipping his fingers under the sheet wrapped around her. He ran his palms over her stomach up to her breasts, careful to do it with an almost exasperating slowness, and smirked smugly when she gasped at the squeeze of his hands. In the constant power struggle that their games were, he loved how her body never missed to respond to his touch; the lack of control she had over attraction she felt was always a victory. "I make them."

Blair tilted her head down, resting it helplessly on his shoulder. He felt her lips tracing the line of his jaw as she lifted her arm, reaching out to his head. Her fingers curled around a bunch of strands, gently at first, and then, a moment later, tightly. Suddenly she was pulling his hair, forcing Chuck to let out a soft groan of pain. "Not this time," she replied and, although breathless, she still sounded incredibly firm. "And not with your wife."

The moment she pronounced those last two words – ' _your_ _wife_ ' sounded incredibly erotic to his ears, especially if said in such a bossy way – , Chuck decided that he was done talking. He turned in an abrupt, impatient movement and pushed her down on the mattress, entrapping her under his weight. "Maybe," he conceded, clasping her hands and guiding her arms over her head, desirous to have full control. He watched her eyes roll with pleasure as she bit her lip to contain an instinctive moan. "But right now I do," he declared as her legs tangled around his waist, and for the next half hour she was more than happy to surrender and let him do just that.

Later that night, Chuck was enjoying a totally different kind of intimacy. There was nothing passionate or eager in the way Blair's fingers were now running leisurely and delicate through his hair; it was a sweet, tender pleasure that satisfied him for its warmth and its caring affection.

Exhaustion had eventually caught up with them and they were now laying in silence, basking in that quietness marked only by their steady breaths. Chuck had his head rested on Blair's lap and an arm lazily laced around her waist. His eyes were closed as he played distractedly with her free hand. His grip was relaxed and not too tight; he was tracing faint imaginary circles on her palm with the tip of his finger, and that reiterated, slow movement was making him somnolent.

He had gotten used to fall asleep with his hands on her; he would drift into unconsciousness holding her tight, toying with her hair or stroking her skin till he couldn't move anymore. He loved touching her, he needed to. It wasn't simply about the way he longed for her body and how he was always desirous to make love to her; it was also about what came after sex, those simple and innocent gestures that were almost childish, but that gave him a sense of calmness that he often couldn't reach by himself. He was constantly driven by the necessity and the desire to feel her presence.

In a surge of gratitude, Chuck squeezed her hand. "I promise I'll take you out tomorrow night," he murmured, his eyes fluttering open to look at her. As he had expected, she was staring at him. He had perceived her loving and attentive gaze watching over him ever since his eyelids had gone shut; under that look, he always felt instinctively safe. Blair looked tired and happy and both considerations made a self-satisfied smirk curl his lips. "Our first house needs to be celebrated properly."

All of sudden, a pensive expression showed on her face. "I'd love to," she said in a low voice, "but I maybe it's not such a good idea, Chuck."

Chuck frowned. His eyes were now narrowed, trying to decipher that unexpected change in Blair's mood. Her demeanor – fleeing gaze and teeth pressed lightly against her lower lip – let a certain sense of guilt show through. That pose wasn't mischievously proud; it didn't suggest she was satisfied about something she had achieved through an aware use of her meanness, but rather it seemed to be honestly remorseful. It was an expression and that rarely crossed her face and Chuck felt intrigued.

"Why not?" he asked suspiciously, as he sat up. He rested his back against the headboard and slid closer to her. "I was under the impression you craved to display our magnificence in a fancy restaurant," he reminded her. She was still lying and he was free to look down at her and scrutinize her face from a privileged position. "You even almost implied it would have been more pleasant than sex."

Blair sighed, shaking her head at his raised eyebrows and amused air. "I did not," she stated, as she pulled herself upright to stare at him straight in the eyes. After a moment Chuck had covered her shoulders with his arm and, when he held her closer, she turned her head, avoiding his question and keeping him from meeting her gaze.

Chuck ducked his head, brushing his lips against her ear. "What's with the mystery, Blair?" he questioned, curious and captivated by her ambiguity. When she didn't reply, he smirked. "You forget I'm a master at discovering secrets," he pointed out. Since she was obstinately refusing to look at him, he placed a soft kiss on her neck, sure that the velvety touch of his mouth would have been too tempting to keep her gaze away from his any longer. "You'd better tell me. You know I'm going to find out anyways."

Giving in, Blair huffed. She turned her attention back at him and rolled her eyes in front of the complacent air showing on his face. "Fine," she conceded, heaving a longer sigh as she placed her head on his chest. Her lips curled in a small, docile pout as she ran her hand over his robe and, looking up at him, she shot him an unsure look. "It's about Nate."

Chuck's brow had furrowed in confusion. Suddenly, to his eyes, his wife's expression appeared more worrying than fascinating. Now that he thought about it, he hadn't heard from his best friend all day; he hadn't found time to call him while he was at work and, once home, his attention had been entirely monopolized by Blair. "What about Nathaniel?" he asked, unable to repress a certain hint of concern in his tone.

Blair didn't answer right away. She rubbed her cheek against his chest and lightly stroked his jaw with her hand, a sequence of gestures that told Chuck that she was about to tell him something he wouldn't have liked. Those gentle ways were an unequivocal attempt to placate him in advance. He sighed, reaching for her palm rested on his face. "Blair," he squeezed her hand, tangling their fingers together and making her raise her eyes on him again. His gaze, questioning and serious, remained still on her hesitant face. "Tell me."

Blair eyed him for one more second before nodding. "He was here when I arrived," she told him cautiously. "He had come looking for you. I tried to convince him to stay and wait with me, but he didn't want to."

Chuck's frown deepened. He took a moment to ponder over her words, thinking of Nate and his recent timidity around Blair, and sighed. "He did," he uttered, shaking his head slowly. "He's just scared to intrude; he's persuaded his presence might bother you. Did he tell you what he needed?"

"No, I suppose he just wanted to see you. He said he'd ask you to meet him for a drink tonight..." Blair paused, looking down as she toyed with the hem of Chuck's robe's collar. She inhaled a deep breath. "But I told him we had plans. I felt bad, so I asked him to join us but then again he didn't listen to me."

Chuck stayed silent for a moment. It was his fault, he wondered, if Nate didn't feel at ease anymore. He hadn't done much to make sure he'd get used to the new circumstances and comfortable in Blair's presence. His free time was almost nonexistent these days and he didn't have many occasions to see his best friend. He was working tirelessly to prove his worth at Bass Industries and, when he came home at night, all he wanted was Blair's exclusive company; her words and touches to make him feel powerful and capable, and, at the same time, her arms wrapped around him to remind him that he was allowed to be vulnerable. She was his safe place; he didn't have anything to demonstrate in her embrace, there weren't expectations or judgement in the way she held him, spoke to him or simply looked at him. Most of the times, he just couldn't renounce to be alone with her.

But it didn't mean he could forget all the other important people in his life, especially Nathaniel, he realized. Sense of guilt and a vague sadness caught him and he glanced down, pursing his lips. "Don't worry about it, I'll talk to him," Chuck stated and his voice sounded firm and somewhat cold, letting his wife understand that he really didn't feel like keeping on with the conversation.

He felt Blair's gaze fixing on him and her hand inching to his shoulder in a gentle caress. "Chuck, there's more," she admitted, forcing him to look back her. He nodded silently, the slowness of his slight movement speaking for the part of him that didn't want to hear what she had to say. He already felt guilty enough.

"I told him we'll move out next month," Blair finally confessed. "I know you wanted to be the one to tell him, I didn't do it on purpose. I was so enthusiastic and it just slipped out."

Chuck closed his eyes and inhaled a deep, controlled breath. Blair sounded actually mortified and her gloomy tone made him want to pull her closer, hold her tighter and tell her that nothing too serious had happened. Yet, he stayed immobile; he was blocked, unable to look at her or show her how he truly felt. He wasn't exactly angry at her, he could understand how the surge of excitement that had led her to speak to Nate, but the thought of how his best friend had surely reacted to the news kept him from letting irritation go. In some ways, he felt like she had interfered in something that was exclusively his and denied him a truly valuable and significant moment with the man he considered his brother. He had planned to tell Nate about the new house in a way that would have made him understand that it didn't mean he had become any less family to him; he wanted to give him a copy of the keys and explain him that he wasn't just welcome in his house, but that he actually wanted him to be a part of it, part of the life he and Blair were building together.

"I'm sorry," Blair whispered against Chuck's chest. "It was a stupid mistake. You know I didn't mean to, right?"

Chuck turned slowly to lay his gaze on her. Her saddened eyes hit him and he knew right away that he couldn't let her take the blame. He couldn't let melancholy darken her glowing face; he would have forgiven her anything, always, for the simple fact that his love for her was deeper and stronger than any other feeling. Plus, being honest, he knew he was most of all mad at himself for having let all of this happen. Making sure his best friend didn't feel excluded should have been his responsibility.

So he forced himself to smile faintly at Blair and place a quick kiss on the top of her head. "I know," he said calmly. Yet, after, he couldn't help but turning quiet, as his tangled thoughts and sense of guilt built an instinctive, inevitable wall between him and his wife.

"I need a shower," he told her after a couple of minutes of silence. "Don't wait for me," he added as he stood up. "You look tired, you should sleep."

Blair nodded, her eyes following him as he crossed the room. He smiled at her before disappearing into the bathroom, thankful for the way she had obviously understood that he needed some time alone to think.

* * *

The next morning Chuck did his best to act as if nothing had happened, determined to show Blair that he wasn't upset. His controlled demeanor and carefully displayed calm, though, didn't convince his wife. In spite of the way Blair seemed to be indulging his behavior, keeping the same composure and normal attitude as he was forcing himself to exhibit in front of her, he still knew she was aware of his real mood. Her gaze, vigilant yet discrete, had followed and studied him all the way through his morning ritual; she had been scrutinizing him ever since she had woken him, trying to catch any sings of anger or even the slightest crack of unconcealed sadness in his expression.

She was still staring at him; he could feel her eyes on him even if he couldn't see her, his face hidden behind the front page of the Spectator. They were sitting at the breakfast table, Blair eating a croissant and Chuck reading his best friend's newspaper, as he did every day before work.

Blair cleared her throat, trying to get his attention. When he folded the corner of the page to glance at her, she smiled at him. "I forgot to tell you I probably won't be home for dinner tonight," she said, reaching for the cup in front of her.

Chuck gave her a quizzical look, watching as she took a sip of tea. "Why not?"

Blair shrugged. "I have a meeting with the buyers at 6," she explained, bringing the cloth napkin to her mouth and elegantly brushing it against her still nude lips. "I'm quite sure it'll drag on. I'll just eat something at the atelier."

Chuck furrowed his eyebrows. "It's Wednesday. I recall you said it was scheduled for Friday," he replied, not hiding a hint of suspect in his tone. Blair had been talking about it for a couple of weeks and he was completely sure about the date she had mentioned. He closed the paper and set it aside on the table, turning his full attention to her.

"It was," she nodded and a larger smile spread on her face. "But I moved it up. I need a long weekend. I was actually thinking I could fly to Paris on Friday morning and come back on Sunday. I have my heart set on a few antique pieces I'd like to check firsthand."

It was a credible answer, Chuck wondered as he observed her, spoken with conviction and spontaneity. His wife was incredibly controlling and the fact that she was skeptical to trust the pictures and wanted to inspect the pieces she had chosen directly wasn't surprising. Sure, she could have sent the interior designer they had hired precisely to take care of these matters, but Blair's immense love for Paris was enough to justify her desire to go herself. Yet, something in her expression didn't quite convince him; he had the clear feeling that she had something to hide.

"That sounds like a great plan," he commented anyways, willing to see how far she'd go with her attempt to keep him in the dark about whatever she truly had in mind. "I suppose I'm not invited to join you?"

Blair shook her head, letting out a soft laugh. "Absolutely not," she said promptly and Chuck ended up smirking in spite of his suspects; she looked so charming that he couldn't help it. "It'd spoil the surprise, Chuck. And, by the way, I'll be staying at my mother's. You'd hate spending two days listening to her complaints about my taste."

Even when clouded by a brief moment of insecurity, her expression was always so dignified; Chuck wondered as he observed her roll her eyes at the thought of her mother's judgement and guide the teacup to her lips, sighing before taking the last short sip. He decided right there that his doubts and bad mood could have been put aside for now; he couldn't resist the temptation to get close to her, so he stood up and came around the table.

"Don't be silly," he leaned down and kissed her cheek. "Eleanor adores you and your sense of style," his lips moved to her mouth, indulging in a longer and deeper kiss. When he pulled away from her, her eyelids were hooded and her lips curled in a content tiny smile. "And so do I," he said, smiling back at her as he tucked a curl behind her ear. "I'll have my assistant arrange the jet for Friday early morning, so you'll be in Paris before dinner time. I'm sure Eleanor and Cyrus have already planned to take you to that restaurant you like so much."

Pushing the chair back, Blair stood up as well. " _La Rotisserie du Beaujolais_ ," she uttered in a flawless, almost natural French. She reached out to his tie, fixing it in a gesture that was purely a display of affection and care, since the knot was already impeccably centered. "You spoil me. You always think of everything," she wrapped her arms around his neck and glanced up on him, shooting him a cautious look. "Maybe you could ask Nate to spend the weekend here, since you'll be alone."

Chuck felt his heart turning heavy again. The true meaning behind Blair's change of plans had become clear; she was trying to help him and fix her mistake by giving him the possibility to spend some time alone with his best friend. Her proposition made perfect sense and he knew it was exactly what he needed, but he wasn't sure he could have actually found the nerve to invite Nate; he had wondered about calling him and apologizing all night, but his own guilt had kept him from doing it. He couldn't silence the thoughts telling him that Nate probably didn't want to talk to him and that he had acted too carelessly to deserve the chance of saying sorry.

He lowered his eyes, pressing his lips in a thin line. "We'll see," he replied laconically.

Blair was about to reply when Chuck's valet cleared his throat to announce himself. "I'm sorry to interrupt, sir," he apologized, "but your limousine is waiting."

Chuck reluctantly pulled away from Blair. "What time is it?" he asked harshly, glaring at the man standing right in front of him. He hated being disturbed, especially when he was with Blair.

"It's 8:30, sir," the valet replied immediately, "as per your instructions."

Chuck sighed and turned to look at Blair again. "I'm sorry, Blair, I have to go," he said, leaning towards her once again to give her a quick kiss.

Blair rested her hand on his cheek. "Think about it, okay?" she reminded him, her fingers skimming over his jaw in a tender caress.

Avoiding her gaze, Chuck nodded. "I will see you tonight," he told her, as, stepping away from her, he took the briefcase his valet was handing him. "Have a good day."

"You too. I'll call you at lunch," he heard her say as he rapidly crossed the living room area to the elevator without looking back.

* * *

It was half past six when Chuck entered the penthouse. As the automatic doors closed behind him and he stepped inside, his eyes started inspecting the dark entrance. He realized immediately that he was alone. The suite was empty and completely silent; Monkey had been taken out by the valet for his evening walk and, as expected, Blair still wasn't back.

Her absence was almost painful. Chuck had always needed and cherished his moments of solitude, but he wasn't used to that loneliness anymore; the quietness shrouding the penthouse was a reminder of a life that didn't belong to him anymore – hollow, broken, hopeless.

Blair had changed it all. Over the past months, she had filled every corner of that place with her love and her care, turning it into a home. She had taught him the pleasure of small habits and the value of sharing a routine together. He loved coming back to find her waiting for him; he'd take her in his arms and, holding her, bask in the feeling that she was his rock and _home_ was wherever she was.

Crossing the foyer and walking to the bar, Chuck was overcome by an irrational, piercing sadness. Heaving a long sigh, he reached out to the crystal decanter and poured himself a glass of single malt. He took a moment to stare at the empty room before taking the first sip.

His gaze lingered on the pool table in front of him and his lips curled in a faint, nostalgic smile; no matter how bad Nate was at every game that required attention and precision, in that moment he would have loved to have him there and play with him. Lost in thoughts and memories, Chuck slowly brought the glass to his lips and took a taste of liquor. Even the scotch he was drinking made him wonder about his best friend; when Nate still lived there, they used to have one together every night before dinner, talking about their days. It was some sort of ritual that he missed dearly.

He had been trying to convince himself to call him all day long. At lunch time, right after speaking with Blair, he had almost pressed number 2 on speed dial, driven by a feeling that was more powerful than sense of guilt; selfless affection and a genuine desire to talk to Nate. Eventually, though, he hadn't given in. Apologizing had never come easy to him. The hard part had never been understanding his mistakes; he could – and clearly. His difficulties came when he was faced with the challenge of forgiving himself – for what he had done and especially for the fragilities that had led him to those faults. Expressing regret required a strength and a bravery he often didn't have.

He would have had to explain Nate that the reason why he had been so reluctant to give himself time apart from Blair was that the moments he spent alone with her were the only moments he felt free; from the responsibilities and the weight of ruling an empire and, most of all, free from the comparison with the man who had built it. He couldn't. The serenity he reached when he was with his wife came also from the fact that he didn't have to explain his need; she felt him and understood him emphatically.

But Nathaniel deserved an apology. Not too long ago, when he was resigned to the fact that Blair was lost to him and that he would have never built a future with her, Nate had been the one person to come home to. Even with his clueless eyes and naïve smile, he had still stood by him faithfully. He had been his home as well, he realized as his mind filled with childhood reminiscences, and for a long time. Chuck had once been a kid with without a family and his best friend had, in some ways, given him one; most of the few good memories he had from that part of his life were with Nate, in his house, a house that had welcomed him a thousand times. Growing up and having the chance to choose, they had lived together longer than they had lived separately; teenage Nate used to occupy Chuck's suite's couch most of the nights even before they had moved in together at the Empire.

Chuck shook his head, cursing his recent negligence towards his best friend once again. He finished his drink and, unfastening his tie, he made his way to the bedroom. He would have showered and then called Nate, he told himself strictly; this situation had gone on far too long.

As soon as he entered the room, though, his attention was drawn by a suit laid on the bed. He frowned; he hadn't demanded his valet to have it ironed and prepared, since he had no intention of going out. As he approached the bed, he realized that a note and a small dark red package had been set next to the outfit. Intrigued, Chuck picked up the package first; it was from _Cartier_ and it hadn't been closed yet, as if whoever had placed it there – Blair, for sure – wanted him to peek inside.

Thinking that his wife had probably decided to mend his pensive mood with a gift, Chuck smirked pleased and opened the box. The contents surprised him; a key ring was nestled on light tissue paper. It was surely a tasteful piece – three rings in stainless steel and pink and yellow golden finish – but it was an unusual present. He pulled it out of the package to observe it better and his frown deepened when he noticed that hanged to the ring there were actually keys.

Puzzled, Chuck put the key ring back into its box and reached out to the note, hoping that it would have given him a clear explanation rather than a clue. He usually loved Blair's games, but he wasn't exactly in the mood to play. His eyes focused on the short letter and, even if driven by absolute inquisitiveness, he couldn't help smile at his wife's monogram printed on the top of the paper – B W B – before he started reading.

_"Love also means knowing when your stubborn other half needs a little push. You have a dinner date with Nate at the hotel's restaurant scheduled for 8 o'clock. Don't make him wait, please. I picked a fresh suit for you, I'm sure you'll be satisfied with my choice. As for the keys, they're a copy of our house's; I bet you already know what to do with them. Love, B."_  
  
Chuck's lips had instinctively bent in a smile the moment he had finished reading the first line. Blair was right; he knew what to do – and so did she, he wondered as he rested the note back on the bed. She had always known what he needed better and more promptly than he did.

* * *

"You're wearing a sweater," Chuck stated as his eyes rested on Nate, who had just reached him at the table. "And jeans," he kept on. " _For dinner_. I must say I'm not surprised, Nathaniel." Even if pronounced with his signature slow and posh tone, the words had the sound and the softness of an affectionate joke.

Affection – and a certain relief – was what Chuck had felt when he had spotted Nate walking into _Ed's Chowder House_. Dressed in a navy blue sweater and a pair of dark jeans, the blonde man had looked around with narrowed eyes and slightly parted lips, trying to figure out if his best friend had already arrived. His outfit and his typical absent-minded expression had made Chuck smile immediately, as he watched him grin kindly at the maître who had approached him to walk him to the table. While the clothes Nate was wearing would have usually made him frown with dissention, that night they had simply amused him.

Nate blinked, as if he was trying to figure out if that comment was a criticism or a compliment. That disordered face made Chuck chortle and, when he did, a bright, large smile spread across the blonde's face.

Nate shrugged. "They're comfortable, man," he said cheerfully, as he pushed the chair back and took a seat in front of Chuck, who shook his head at that answer and at the way his friend had sat down – clumsily, with his elbow rested on the candid linen tablecloth. "Hey!" he exclaimed then, hopping slightly on his chair. The cloth napkin he was trying to adjust on his lap fell on the floor, victim of that sudden rush of enthusiasm. "You arrived before me!"

"I did, indeed," Chuck stated, motioning for a waiter to get closer. When the man did, he gestured towards the fallen object. "What's so shocking about it?"

Nate giggled. "Nothing, it's just weird. You're always late," he answered before smiling at the server, who had promptly seen to bring him a clean napkin. "Thank you so much," he told him.

Chuck couldn't help but rolling his eyes in front of his best friend's gentleness. " _Fashionably late_ , Nathaniel. It's different," he specified. "And that only happens when I have to meet irrelevant people. Would you like an entree?"

"Sure," Nate agreed, his eyes shimmering with glee.

Chuck smirked, glad that his reply had brought the result he had hoped. Nate was blatantly content to be considered important – and even somewhat surprised, he detected then. He felt a pinch of guilt prinking his chest; it was his fault if his best friend had doubted the significance he had in his life. He had to make it up to him, he told himself once more, and make sure it never happened again.

Chuck ordered salmon tartare and oysters as starters and lobsters for both of them to follow. As they waited for the first course, Nate told him about how he had received the invitation. As he had expected, Blair had been exquisitely smart; she had had his assistant call Nate, making sure she'd clarify that the only reason why Chuck wasn't calling him in person was that he was far too busy. It was a perfectly believable excuse and, obviously, Nate had bought it without exemptions; he was fully convinced the idea of dining together had come from Chuck's – and he seemed to be incredibly happy about it. His wife had achieved her goals, Chuck thought with pride and gratitude: she had gently pushed him to overcome his guilt and managed to make Nate feel considered.

Dinner was truly pleasant. A couple of hours flew by as they discussed work and common acquaintances, enjoying delicious food and fine wine. Chuck felt relaxed and home; talking to Nate was amusing and natural and, he realized more and more clearly as minutes passed, it was also something he couldn't renounce to. His friendship was indispensable to him. They had to find new routines and adapt to the changing of their lives in a way that would have allowed them to maintain their relationship intact, not any different from how it had been till then; domestic, brotherly and, most importantly, solid.

"Blair will be in France for the weekend," Chuck said as he took the first bite of dessert. "I was thinking you could stay at the penthouse while she's away," he paused, taking a sip of champagne from his flute. "We hadn't had much time together lately."

Nate glanced down, his gaze resting on his lemon meringue pie. "Yeah," he replied, toying with the dessertspoon he was holding. "But it's okay. I know your busy with work and well…Blair."

Chuck shook his head. "Blair has nothing to do with it," he affirmed firmly. Nate glanced up, shooting him a confused look, and he sighed. "I know you're afraid to intrude," he kept on, "and I know you're convinced you'd bother her if you spent more time with us, but none of this is true. You're family to her, as much as you are to me."

A veil of gloom darkened Nate's face. "It's just you guys have been through so much," he pointed out sadly. He paused and, shrugging, he stole a quick, shy glance at Chuck, as if he was trying to understand from his expression if the vague reminder of everything happened before the wedding had been tactless. "You have the right to build your life, you know."

Chuck stared at him right in the eyes; clear blue, genuine eyes that were a mirror of his selfness and of his good heart. Slowly, the corners of his lips tilted up in a gentle smile. "But I have no intention of building a life that doesn't include you," he uttered after a few seconds of silence. He was speaking in the most sincere way, his words undressed of their characteristic pomposity, and he knew that Nate could understand the rarity of that precise moment; letting his guard down and conveying his feelings into unequivocal, pure words was something Chuck didn't do very often. "And neither does Blair. She told about the conversation you two had yesterday and she feels pretty guilty about it."

Nate shook his head. "It doesn't matter –"

"It does," Chuck stopped him right away. "You should have heard about the house from me. I haven't been a good friend to you these past few months," he admitted, lowering his gaze. He tried to drown the shame he felt in another long sip of champagne before keeping on with his speech. "I didn't mean to be so absent, but I've had a lot on my plate and some things have been…overwhelming."

He let the words hang and, after another small pause, he convinced himself to glance up; meeting Nate's gaze again, he felt reassured. His best friend didn't look disappointed or even perplexed and he knew right there that his apology, although elusive, had been comprehended.

Nate smiled brightly at him. "I understand, man," he told him. "I suppose it's only fair to want to be with your wife. I guess, at least," his eyebrows furrowed to show indecision. "But I've never been married so I wouldn't know."

Chuck let out a soft laugh. "It depends who you're married to, Nathaniel. I must say I'm a lucky man."

The grin on Nate's lips widened. "I'm really happy for you," he said in a serious, sincere tone. "It's a good thing that you and Blair will soon have a real house. I'll just miss you around here, you know."

Nate's words had trailed off with a melancholic sigh and his smile had slowly faded. Looking at him, Chuck thought that was the perfect moment to reassure him. "Which is why I want you to have these," he replied, sliding his hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out the keys. He handed them over to his best friend, who picked them up with a frown.

"They're a copy our house's keys," Chuck explained before Nate could pronounce the question that was about to escape his lips. His eyes widened in surprise and Chuck smirked. "You'll be free to come and go whenever you please, Nathaniel," he kept on. "We'll always be happy to welcome you."

"But man," the blond man objected, holding the keyring with his index finger, "are you sure Blair is okay with this?"

Nate was happy, Chuck could tell it from the way he was trying to contain himself from beaming with enthusiasm in front of that unexpected gift and its clear meaning. His hesitance came from his natural fear of being disrespectful; Nate used to tiptoe around people, timid and humble as he had always been. He was a delicate person and possibly the most sensitive man Chuck knew.

"I'm completely sure. You've got to stop being so shy around her, Nathaniel," Chuck pointed out, reaching out to Nate's flute and filling it with more champagne. "She's Blair; you've know her since you were four. The fact that we're married now doesn't change a thing. As a matter of fact," he paused, pouring the sparking liquid into his glass as well, "she's the one who had the keys made. She even went all the way to _Cartier_ to get you a proper keyring."

That revelation finally managed to make Nate let go of his insecurity and allow himself to smile widely, gratitude and enthusiasm sparkling in his gaze. "Did she?" he chuckled, turning the keys in his hand and staring at them as an stunned child. "I should probably send her flowers to thank her."

Chuck nodded. "I would if I were you," he agreed with decision. "Pink peonies," he reminded him, smirking. "They're her favorite."

This was family, he wondered a few minutes later, as he and Nate finished dessert and made plans for the weekend; knowing each other to the core, accepting each other and sharing a life together. He was utterly proud of the one he was building.

* * *

The sound of the elevator reaching the penthouse woke Blair long past midnight. The ding, even though soft, had been enough to break her light sleep. Without Chuck's arms trapping her, she hadn't been able to relax completely; although tiredness had forced her to rest, her eyes had snapped open at every noise ever since she had gone to bed.

Realizing that he was finally back, Blair smiled softly, counting every slow, deliberate step he took approaching the bedroom. She reached out to the night light on the bedside table, turned it on and sat up, adjusting the duvet over her legs. A few seconds later her husband crossed the door.

"Blair," Chuck uttered gently, his lips curving in a smile. "You're still awake."

Finding her waiting for him had surely pleased him, she noticed contentedly, but for once she was happy to acknowledge that she wasn't the only person responsible for his blatant good mood; she didn't feel jealousy at the thought that someone else could give him the delight she could see clearly on his face in that moment, but tenderness and warmth. "It feels strange to sleep without you," she admitted, smiling back at him. "Did you enjoy your dinner with Nate?"

Chuck stared at her in silence for a moment. It was that look – dark, deep and immobile – that made her feel adored; every now and then he'd literally take a few second to gaze at her and his usually enigmatic expression would turn more tender, letting all of his devotion and gratefulness show through. Blair felt herself blushing under his eyes and, as he stepped towards her, she glanced down.

"I did," he replied as he sat down next to her on the edge of the bed. "I think Nathaniel finally understood that I'm not abandoning him and that you're not trying to banish him," he added, removing his tie.

His words were tinged with that pinch of sarcasm that was so typical of him and it was that small detail that told Blair that he had finally let go of guilt and worries. She raised her eyes on him again and shot him a gloating look, her lips bending in a satisfied smirk. "So he appreciated the keys?"

A sudden shyness, revealed by a tiny smile, softened Chuck's expression. "He was enthusiastic. I don't think we'll ever get rid of him," he joked.

She giggled and he leaned forward to kiss her. His mouth tasted like scotch and cigars and her lips, pressed against his, stretched in a smile; she detested smoke, but that night knowing he had conceded himself some perdition didn't bother her at all.

"You smoked a cigar," she still stated when they parted, giving him a stern look. She had tried to sound disapproving, but she understood from his chuckle that her words had come out amused instead.

Chuck nodded, visibly satisfied. "A couple, actually," he informed her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and raised his eyebrows at her, an oblique smirk giving to his face the haughtiness she couldn't help but love. "And not just those."

Blair shook her head, not surprised by the revelation. "You are incorrigible," she sighed.

His smirk turned sharper with his growing contentment. "And that's exactly why you love me so much," he replied. He captured her lips in another kiss before she had the time to contradict him.

Blair granted herself some seconds of pleasure before giving him a little push, pulling away from him. His complacent, devilish little smile was still there to make her roll her eyes. "Go shower, Bass," she commanded, "before you contaminate the sheets with smoke smell."

Chuck, always delighted by his authoritarian tone, eyed her. "I love when you get so imperative," he said, amused by her forcedly austere pose. "There's something erotic about it," he declared.

Prepared to her reaction, he stood up before she could slap his shoulder; he knew exactly when to expect some sort of violent response from her, simply because provoking her was something he had never stopped loving to do. He crossed the room and closed the bathroom door behind him, aware that, in spite of her fake annoyance, his wife was smiling lovingly at him.

When Chuck came back into the bedroom, Blair had turned the light off. Suspecting that she had fallen asleep, he approached the bed gingerly and cautiously laid down next to her. He imprisoned her in a tight embrace, closing his eyes as he rested his head on the edge of the pillow, so that he could sink his face into the crook of her neck and breathe her in. It was then that he understood she wasn't sleeping; Blair grabbed his hand and gave it a little squeeze. "You don't smell like smoke anymore," she whispered in a drowsy, relaxed voice.

"I don't," Chuck kissed her shoulder, smiling against her skin. He inhaled a deep breath, answering to her touch with a gentle squeeze as well. All of sudden, he felt overwhelmed by a deep sense of gratitude; she was his balance, the main reason why he functioned and the architect of his happiness. The respect she had showed towards his relationship with Nate made him feel utterly loved; she would have never let him renounce to something as important as the bond between him and his best friend, not even if it meant, in some ways, having to share part of his attention. "Thank you," he told her quietly, placing another kiss on her temple.

Blair stirred only slightly in his arms. "It was nothing," she murmured. "Just a little push."

Chuck smiled, realizing she had quoted her own note. Blair wasn't the kind of person to repeat herself and he knew that such a short, blurry answer meant that she was drifting into sleep; she had spoken so slowly and so softly that he had no doubts about it. He let her sleep, wondering that he would have thanked her properly the next day.

* * *

When Chuck crossed his townhouse front door on that December Sunday afternoon, he knew immediately his wife was home. He recognized the notes of the _Habanera_ from _Carmen_ coming from upstairs right away and smiled to himself; judging from the music, she had to be cheerful, he thought as he climbed the stairs, following the sound. It came from the third floor, which told him that Blair was probably in their bedroom.

Impatient to see her, he rushed to reach the room. The door was open and Chuck leaned against the doorjamb, pleased to enjoy the sight of Blair moving gracefully around the triumph of gold and black that was their suite, dressed in a black lace nightgown and silk robe. She was checking on several packages and boxes arranged on the bed, mouthing the words of the aria distractedly and smirking satisfied every now and then, surely happy about the contents of the bags. Tea with her mother had definitely ended up in a shopping date, he realized.

After a few seconds he decided it was time to reveal himself. " _L'amour est un oiseau rebelle_ ," he spoke from the doorstep. "I don't really agree; love is most of all faithfulness. It's in the simplest things, like coming home to a beautiful woman wrapped in sheering night clothes."

Blair, who had turned to look at him, smiled as he approached her. "Someone is romantic," she said, lacing her arms around his neck.

"What can I say?" he placed a hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer. "I'm in a good mood."

Blair raised her eyebrows. "So you won," she stated, looking perfectly sure of her words.

He frowned slightly. "Of course I did," he replied, an hint of offence tinging his voice at the thought she might had doubted his skills. "My uncle is not even close to be as good as I am at squash."

"Always so modest," Blair rolled her eyes. She raised up on her toes to place a brief kiss on his lips before freeing herself from his hold and turning.

She walked back towards the bed and Chuck followed her. Observing as she kept on scanning what she had bought, he noticed some Ralph Lauren packages and, convinced that she had gotten him something, he reached out to one of them.

"Put that down, Chuck," Blair admonished him before he could peek inside. "It isn't for you."

He furrowed his brow, shooting her an interrogative glance. Feeling intrigued and somewhat jealous, he decided that his curiosity needed to be satisfied. He sank his hand into the package and extracted a tie. His eyes narrowed as he inspected the object. The fabric was exquisite, but the pattern was very simple and the color wasn't particularly appealing; a pretty basic navy blue he would have never chosen for himself. "I hope so," he commented perplexed.

Glaring at him, Blair pulled the tie and the package away from his hold. "As if I would ever buy you something so unpretentious," she rolled her eyes again as he frowned. "It's for Nate. He's been wearing the same two ties for three weeks straight. It's becoming embarrassing, so I got him a few new ones," she sighed, "hoping he'll manage to match them correctly with a suit."

Chuck's puzzled expression faded immediately. He chortled, amused both by her comment and by the fact that she had actually thought of his best friend while shopping; he was usually absurdly possessive when he came to his wife, but the way Blair acted with Nate, as if he was actually a part of her family and someone she had to take care of, pleased him immensely.

"I'm sure he'll like them," he said with a smile. He wrapped his arms around her once more and kissed her deeply. She had given him the life and the family he had always wanted and, together, they had built a house that was more than walls and furniture. It was a place to feel loved, to care for each other and to welcome the few people they wanted to share their life with; it was their home.

* * *

_And I built a home_

_for you,_

_for me._

* * *

**Notes:**

**[1]** The quote at the beginning at the end of the chapter are from the song "To Build a Home", by The Cinematic Orchestra

**[2]** This is possibly my favorite headcanon; I see Nate being part of Chuck and Blair's family and part of their domestic life.

**[3]** A big thank you to my dear Daphne for her support.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] The quote at the beginning at the end of the chapter are from the song "To Build a Home", by The Cinematic Orchestra
> 
> [2] This is possibly my favorite headcanon; I see Nate being part of Chuck and Blair's family and part of their domestic life.
> 
> [3] A big thank you to my dear Daphne for her support.


End file.
